


Dear Diary, it's Vlad again.

by bobadeluxe



Category: The Sims (Video Games)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Harvestfest, Holidays, Human/Vampire Relationship, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, New Year's Eve, Non-Explicit Sex, Older Characters, POV First Person, Vampires, Winterfest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:14:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26528833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobadeluxe/pseuds/bobadeluxe
Summary: A famous novelist once said there are only two kinds of stories in this world: A man goes on a journey, or a stranger comes to town(Or how Vladislaus Straud found love in his twilight years.)
Relationships: Vladislaus Straud/Original Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	Dear Diary, it's Vlad again.

**Author's Note:**

> i dont feel like anyone is going to read this. the sims 4 tag just seem to be filled with people's oc stuff that others arent particularly interested in. i still wanna post it though, so enjoy!
> 
> Inspired by Vlad's diary: https://www.ea.com/games/the-sims/the-sims-4/news/sims-4-vampires-deardiary

Dear Diary, It is Vlad — as always.

A famous novelist once said there are only two kinds of stories in this world: A man goes on a journey, or a stranger comes to town. Since these seem to be the only news I have been receiving the past few decades, I am inclined to agree. As the founder and keeper of Forgotten Hollow, I am obligated to look after the inhabitants under my care. That includes the good-for-nothing Vatores, and to a certain extent — the oblivious Sims who dared reside here. Nevertheless, I find myself growing tired not of the duty, but specifically keeping track of Sims. 

There are two types of Sims here, the oblivious, and the enthusiastics. They either come here ignorant of all things otherworldly, or they fancy themselves daring despite their mundane nature. Regardless of motivation, most of them never stuck around here for long. Give or take a few weeks, and they will be driven away by fright when they realize there is more than meet the eyes in this sleepy town. (If they have not fallen prey to the local vampires first, that is.) The rare fews who thrive  _ may _ join the inner circle, but the rest wasted their life away in a blink of an eye. 

Sims are as fragile as they are obsolete.

It is tiring to put an effort into remembering their names, welcoming them to our community, when they will just die anyway. Reading through this diary now, I see many names that I bothered to write down, yet none of them survived to this day. I once took the time to welcome a new Sims personally, only for them to die on the same day while fixing their television. All that is to say — I have not yet met the new man who arrived in our town, nor did I look too deep into his background, evident by the fact that I do not even know of his name. This oversight did not please the young Vatore, so he showed up at my mansion demanding an explanation.

" **Not** a vampire," he raised his voice at me —  _ the audacity! —  _ as I opened the door.

I had no idea what he was referring to, and wondered if it was some sort of passive aggressive nonsense. "Pardon?"

"The newcomer," he emphasized on the word more than necessary. "He is not a vampire. Why is his house registered on the league?"

My initial reaction was  _ Fuck If I know _ , but that was my irritation speaking. The truth of the situation is: the house was not registered on the league, but the  _ lot  _ was. It is still recognized as an official Vampire Lair, as it was previously owned by one of our kind. (Who moved to Brindleton Bay after she became infatuated with a pretty, young thing. Fools.) It did not occur to me that I will have to change it to reflect the new occupant.

"'tis but an oversight," I told him as much. "It should be corrected in three business days." Because I did not feel like handling paperworks at the time.

"Three days?" Young Vatore hissed at me "That's unacceptable. I almost revealed my dark form to him at the housewarming party, and what if the League sent him their favors?"

Bored at his incessant whining, I began to pick under my fingernails. "What is the problem? I thought you are all about spreading 'Cruel-free Free Ranged Plasma' these days."

He opened his mouth, baring fangs, as if to say something or launch an attack at me. He knew better not to after his humiliating defeat, of course. In the end, he simply hissed at me frustrated, then teleported away in a puff of smoke.

Fear not, Diary. I will see to it soon enough. Tiring as it may be, I _do_ take pride in my duty. Right now though — moonlight is wasting.

* * *

Dear Diary, It is Vlad again. Today, I received a guest.

It has been a long decade since someone visited me. (The Vatores do not count. They trespass, never visit.) The cemetery around my house tends to put people off. This visitor was no one but the newcomer who has been on my mind since last night, and might continue to linger there longer (for entirely different reasons.) His name — I have come to learn — is Brennan Lioncourt. A broad-shouldered, ginger-haired man who looked to be around 'my age' — if my superficial appearance accurately represents my time in this world. He sported a mustache popular amongst perverts and pickpockets, and an attractive blazer. The wrinkles around his eyes suggested experience, but the huge zit on his forehead reminded me of his mortality.

Truth be told, I contemplated ignoring the doorbell. He arrived at my mansion around three in the evening or so; the sun was still _disgustingly_ bright outside. I had a reputation to uphold, unfortunately, so I grit and bear it as I opened the door to greet him. My skin was _sizzling_ , and a throbbing headache overtook me.

"How much does a polar bear weigh?" He said, then put his hand out for a handshake before I could express my disapproval of his juvenile humor. "Enough to break the ice, I'm Brenan!"

I tried to come off as friendly, but my grimace could not be read as anything but disdain. "Charmed, I am sure."

"You must be the uh, the… your grandpa is the statue right?"

With the way he phrased his question, one would think my grandfather was literally a statue. "The statue in our town square was made after my great grandfather's likeness, yes." In reality, it was me, but he did not need to know that.

He kept making small talk with me for a few minutes, leading me to wonder for what purpose he had visited me. He kept talking  _ at _ me about anything in particular. Our miserable little conversation consisted of inane questions, jokes that never quite landed, and  _ impressions.  _ Though after a while he finally took notice of how uncomfortable I was, and apologized.

You would think that was his queue to leave. Instead, he apologized, then asked to come inside so we could chat somewhere more comfortable. Out of desperation to not die an untimely, humiliating death, I granted him entry. He continued apologizing furiously, before we resumed our mutual destruction by discussing the local fishing spots on my lavish couch.

To my utter surprise, the conversation took a turn to more pleasant pastures when I was no longer burning alive. I would hardly call it an interesting conversation or even an entertaining one, but it was tolerable. I found out that Brennan moved here to find inspiration for his novel. I have heard _that_ for at least a thousand times. He did not write REAL literature; he made a living writing 'listicles'. He also self-published a wide, confusing range of genre books, including but not limited to the Starlight Accolades' nominee 'Why do seasons change?' and the critically acclaimed 'Haiku For Hotties' — whatever that is. He is — and this, I did not ask — single.

He overstayed his welcome, and only left to write when inspiration struck him. I did not care for the man, yet I would not mind spending more time with him. Why do you think that is?

I still have not taken his house off the Vampire registry.

* * *

  
  


Dear Diary, It is Vlad. Things keep happening so much.

Brennan continued to visit me seemingly at every chance he got. His work hours conveniently left him free in the evening, and he often stayed with me until late into the night. I am not certain if he prefers my company or he just could not find any other friends. I welcomed him all the same. During one of our conversations — after he complimented my body type — Brennen asked to exchange phone numbers. I do not have a phone. He looked surprised, but did not press the topic further. He did say this:

"No wonder you are not on Simda. It's so hard to find a GILF there."

What could that acronym possibly stand for? My entire body shivered as I considered the possibilities. It could be  _ Grand Master I Would Like To Find.  _ I do not believe Brenan knows of my true form. I do not know why it worries me that he might. He never showed any sign of being in the know, and he did not look like a good liar. So far, he had only brought up Vampire once. Even then he asked for our history instead of debating our existence. When I feigned ignorance, he did not ask anything else 

That evening, the Vatore siblings stormed to my mansion, annoyed. That made three of us. Though Lilith looked more displead than anything else, while fussy, fussy Caleb was making a fuss. 

"You HAVE to make an effort to fit in," he told me in a fist of rage. His sister then shoved a box of brand new phone on my lap.

Fit in? I think  the fuck not. I founded Forgotten Hollow for my own kind; why would I assimilate with the intruders? They came here, they treated this place like a tourist destination, and they never bothered to interact with our community. Unlike the Vatore siblings, I have no guilt, no shame, over my Vampirism. I do not feel the need to change my way, to hide my form, nor do I want to. They would not be fretting over keeping their identity secret, if they did not see it as a disgrace.

I do want the phone though, so I did not say all that.

"How do I use this?" Once I got it out of the box, I tried to mesmerize the phone into following my commands. It did not work; the onyx tablet reflected nothing but light.

"No, use your fingers." I readied my claws. "No! Ugh, this is more frustrating than explaining frog plasma to you." 

Lilith and Caleb helped me set up the phone with much frustration. It took us around two days, but I finally mastered it. Lilith added me to the League group chat (much to her brother's protests.) She also added some contacts for me, one of the numbers was _Brennan_. I sent him a quick 'text' letting him know I now possess a phone. He's been bombarding me with calls and texts ever since then.

I cannot say that I mind.

Just last season I found keeping track of mortals tiresome, but now I find joy in hearing the stories of Brennan's ordinary everyday life. His promotion, his soon-to-be-released book 'Haiku For Hotties: Harvestfest Edition', his favorite Bubble Blower Flavor (Cosmic Encounter) — none of this is objectively interesting, but lately I have troubles being objective. My stomach keeps doing all sorts of strange flips, I feel warm despite the fall weather. Perhaps Caleb wasn't lying after all when he told me about bad plasma. 

Our continuing fraternization spurred me into being 'spontaneous.' I visited Brenan on Harvestfest, wishing him a happy holiday. I expected him to be celebrating with others, instead he was alone with naught but gnomes. I wanted to rectify that. He welcomed me inside, then offered me to partake in a grand meal which I regretfully declined. I never cared for festivals. They were invented by Sims to give meanings to the otherwise meaningless passage of time. I have been a Vampire for a very long time, I longer needed to apply sentimental significance on any day of the year. A day is just a day. They were useful in reminding me of time (just like you, Diary) but that is all the good it ever did me.

When we spent the evening celebrating Harvestfest together however, I found myself thinking I  _ could  _ enjoy this. I could be someone who finds joy in celebrating these frivolous customs. I could. Brennan gave me small pieces of pies to offer the gnomes, then he did his silly song and dance to show appreciation for the year. He told me all the things he was thankful for this season — one of them was the privilege of having met me.

He was pointing at the gnome but I kept staring at his lovely neck. When I arrived at his doorstep, I found that he had been planting the seeds The League sent out to registered Vampire lairs. Wolfbane, Plasma Fruit, and Sixam Mosquito Trap have conquered his yard. Perhaps I neglected to take him off the registry because, deep down, I wished he would turn to the darkness so this could  _ officially  _ be a Vampire lair.

If that was true, then it was a ridiculous thing to hope for. I'd rather not dwell on my past too much, Diary, but.. not all Sims have what it takes to live as an immortal. You may not age, but you could still be killed or die of other causes. It's one thing to see your loved ones die while you have barely aged. It's another thing to grant them immortality, live long enough to see them resenting it, and succumb to Grim Reaper's embrace on their own free will.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Dear Diary, I am still Vlad, contrary to what Caleb has been saying. I am not senile, I did not become possessed, I am not cursed, and whatever have you.

"Why are you making that face?" He often asked, with a disgusted expression and tone.

I had my nose buried into my phone, reading the latest poetry Brennan sent:  _ Oh to be in love. It matters not if the stone is cold and the posterior recoils at its icy embrace, because the love of the heart warms all with its flame. But seriously, watch out for bird poop; the heart's love offers little to no protection against that. _

Wiser words have never been said. Fuck birds. I spent that night eradicating the local bird population. Serve them right for shitting on Brenan's lovely curls.

He's been expressing how much he admired me, leaving compliments of my appearance, and possibly-suggestive jokes. Unlike Caleb, he appreciated my gray coats. I do not know what it is I am doing with Brennan, but I do not see myself stopping any time soon. He visited me on Winterfest with a gift: a beautiful arrangement of  _ Bird of Paradise.  _ I was — and still am — incredibly touched. When you have been alive as long as I have, Dear Diary, there is almost  _ nothing _ you haven't done. Yet Brennan managed to impress me. After all these years, no man has ever given me flowers. 

Whe he called and invited me to his house on New Year's eve, I teleported over there so quick Brennan was stunned. He looked beautiful. His cheeks were flushed with alcohol, his thick-rimmed glasses rest askew oh-so-charmingly on the bridge of his prominent nose. I could not partake in drink or food, but Brennan was happy just watching the New Year's programs with me. At one point, he scooted closer until our knees touched. He wrapped one arm around my shoulders, whispering into my ears asking if I wanted to spend the night at his place. I agreed before I could stop myself. How would I go home in the morning, you may ask. Well, I do not know.

"My resolution this year is to get promoted," he said.

"That is lovely, Brennan."

He flashed me a toothy grin, the creases and folds on his face shifted way to make room, for his smile was beautiful and larger than life. " _ You _ are lovely."

We counted down the seconds until New Year, then he turned around and kissed me.

_ Oh.  _ So this is what it is, what it has been, what all of this was for — courtship.

It's been such a long time.

I leaned into his touch. He tasted, faintly, of Love Potion #4.

Brennan invited me to join him on the bed. I teleported to his room upstairs, waiting while he stumbled his way over, panting and heaving. I fucked. Thanks to my Vampirism, I am incredibly virile. Brennan conked out instantly after he lasted a sufficient five minutes (not counting foreplay, of course.)

He is now snoring next to me in the bed. I do not know how I am going to get home, and I do not want to leave him while he's sleeping. It seems that I will have to be doing a walk of shame in the morning. The local Vampires — especially the troublesome siblings — are going to be  _ delighted _ .

But there is nothing to be ashamed about this, is there? I am happy. Whatever comes next doesn't matter at all in the grand scheme of things. So I shall let myself indulge, lying back on the bed, resting my head on the chest of my beloved. Tomorrow I will wake up into a new year, and as a new man.

**Author's Note:**

> this is just my playthrough + heavily modded lol. originally i planned for Brennan to be my sims cult leader, but somehow he ended up being a goof writing children's book, poetry, and REALLY hitting it off with vlad hahaha
> 
> edit: sorry i didn't use 'woohoo' in place of fuck, it's just way too funny to make vlad say 'I fuck' completely straight-faced.  
> if you're curious - here are the old boys [i typoed brennan's entire names lol] https://imgur.com/a/RKaAKi9


End file.
